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[leaderinahalfshell]

With another deflated exhale Leo’s head slumped lower, looking down as he picked at the dirty wrappings over his hands. He couldn’t tell Don it was worth it; he was only telling them what he’d been telling himself all this time to make it easier to swallow.

For all the good in the world it couldn’t justify losing them, what good they did was never enough-- he was ashamed to even think that way but it was true. There was no satisfaction to hear Don’s regret, to see how the years were just as unkind. It was just the two of them now.

At least, for a while longer.

He could feel Don’s eyes boring into him now and his stomach continued to tighten; their gears were still turning and all focus was now entirely on him. Now it was Leo’s turn to avoid their scrutiny. .

“I can’t stop.” He said again only quieter; there was little determination in his voice, Leo just sounded tired. “I’ve got to see this through.”

Coming Home

He put his hands on the can – both of his hands – and squeezed it so tightly it dented all the way around. He wasn’t thirsty. Or hungry. He was just numb – numb everywhere he wished he could feel something and hurting beyond belief everywhere he wished he could just shut off.

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Because he understood, now. Because he could learn from his mistakes.

“But I do. I regret it all. You – you can’t tell me it’s okay. You can’t tell me it was worth it,” Don said, and his own tone surprised him: it was almost robotic. “And  – “

He looked Leo in the eye, then – far more sharply and far longer than he could ever remember doing before.

“And you can’t tell me you’re going back up there. Not this time.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

Getting up with a heavy sigh Leo slowly walked over, rubbing his eyes clear before sitting himself beside Don. He set the previously offered can down and pushed it closer towards them. “You won’t want it-- but drink.” His voice remained low so not to speak over them.

Not that Leo would have responded to anything Don said, it wasn’t the time for bickering. Given what he now knew Leo would’ve been lying to say he wouldn’t have considered sending them home, willing or not.

It didn’t matter though, did it? Admitting that wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.

“I couldn’t, Don. I can’t stop.” He finally replied. “--but I would never have stopped them if-- if they wanted to.” Would he have argued? Yes. Would he have still put up a fight? Without question-- but--  “It was their call.”

“For what it’s worth, we did some good... They-- Raph.  Mikey-- They’ve helped a lot of people.”

“I don’t think they would’ve regretted it.”

Coming Home

Don didn’t even realize he’d dropped his hands; Leo’s voice had come to him from so far, far away, and yet somehow, he could still manage to respond to him. The fabrics had grown spotty with water, and he knew he was shaking – not sobbing, but trembling at the hands, cracking at his tightly clenched teeth.

He couldn’t feel his jaw; some unseen lever in the whirling recesses of his brain forced it to move.

“You – you should’ve brought them home a long time ago.”

No. No. No, that was wrong. Donatello’s hands balled into fists on his lap, into a vice-like grip around what was left of his brothers. 

“I – I should’ve – “  Even just above a whisper, his voice was shattering like a thin glass sheet; he spoke so softly, yet every muscle in his throat felt so unbearably tight. “I should’ve gone and – and brought you all home. But I let you go. I let you go. I let you go, and – ”

His words were swelling at the back of his tongue; he was practically choking on them.

“Why couldn’t you just stop – ?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

Really? Was this the sort of treatment the eldest brother deserved? Really? A couple seconds more of ridicule and Leo was on the verge of testing out Don’s block trigger in real life.

...That means he wanted to hit them. It was just-- trying to make it sound-- He didn’t get video games, alright?

Fortunately, it seemed seemed fate was on Leonardo’s side before things could come to non-virtual blows; the loading screen was over and the match was counting down to begin-- and here was Don milking this condescending dig for all it was worth with foolishly no controller in hand. Leo didn’t hesitate for one second.

Stone faced, he started to mash the truest, most familiar button he knew.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch--

Oh, gag him, this was mistake; it was getting oh so very hard not to slump in his seat or rub his temples until they caved in on his brain. Just smile and keep talking, Donnie; he’ll get it.

Some time this century.

“Okay. Once again,” he said, and by god, he couldn’t speak any slower if he were a busted cassette as he leaned forward to gesture to Leo’s controller again. “See the big buttons on the top there? Those are triggers. You hold one down to block. See?”

“The stick-thingy is called the left stick; it’s the same one you use to move. If you want to dodge, you hold down a trigger and move the stick toward where you wish to go. Better?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

“Noted.”

Not looking down, definitely not looking down. Heights weren’t typically a problem-- but Leo had never quite seen heights like this before; most of these buildings were putting New York to shame.

“One of the good guys, huh?” Leo couldn’t help but laugh, he wasn’t disputing it for a second but it was pretty weird to hear coming out of the guy who looked like they’d leaped right out of his brothers’ comic books. “I’m glad the whole heh, everything didn’t put you off.”

“I’m going to throw a really stupid question out there and it’s totally fine by me if you just ignore it but-- this is starting to sound like... you’re basically a superhero. Right?”

“I help out anyone who needs it” Terry said. “It’s the right thing to do and this place can be pretty messed up at points. When it comes to…uh…out of towners, sometimes it’s the best thing to help out in that case. They’re lost, confused and–yeah I’d recommend not looking down.”

Many cities had this problem eventually. Sooner or later, growth would become limited around the land and they could only make so much artificial land. The solution had been a ‘simple’ one in prospect: upward. Soon Gotham grew higher and higher until levels became a thing and old Gotham was buried under the Neo-Gotham heights and sights.

“We’re close though. You’d be surprised how many people end up like this. I’ve had to help out plenty before and I’m just glad you’re one of the good guys.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

Did he have to hold the button to block: that was all Leonardo wanted to know. It was all he ever needed to know. His expression was stern but the look in his eyes was distant. It was like having Harold’s portal explained all over again.

The controller was looking more and more foreign to him with every new function, it wasn’t hard to lose track of-- Wait, hold on. Did Don just say tap?

“...So I tap it--? and hold if I want to dodge?”

“Well, it depends: see, back there, holding it down would’ve been safe unless I decided to go for a grab, in which case you’d definitely want to dodge, and when that happens you side-step –honestly, rolls are so predictable – and then either try and counter during my cool down or get your spacing back. But if you’re feeling lucky, you can tap at just the right moment and perform a – “

Brakes! Brakes, Donatello; he wasn’t ready. Dear god, was he ever so unready.

“ – you know what? Yeah. Yeah, just hold it and move the stick if you wanna dodge. Easy.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

“I don’t mash!” Leo snapped, a knee-jerk response after yanking the controller out of Don’s intruding way. The fact they were still on the loading screen didn’t even register, he couldn’t tolerate them tapping his buttons.

“I’m pressing all of the buttons and my guy never does anything different. Your guy gets to shoot fire.”

“...Do I hold this to block or do I just tap it?”

“Oh, no need; I can just tell you!” Don said with a cheerfulness that barely masked his clear pretense of ribbing the poor guy; he promptly leaned into Leo’s space, tapping the various controls as if explaining a clay model of a dinosaur to a five year old.

“I use this button to block. And then sometimes I move this stick-thingy to dodge,” he said. “And when I’m having a merry time blocking and dodging and whatnot, your ‘charge and mash the attack button’ strategy loses a lot of utility. Simple, right?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

After passing the bag Leo’s burden felt no lighter; if anything he felt even heavier as he slumped back against the wall like dead weight. His punishment wasn’t through yet, not by a long shot; he still had to watch. He forced himself to watch.

All this time had passed and Leonardo could already feel himself numbing over; he was numb dredging through cold waters to get here as much as he was numb to every cut and bruise that ached and hindered his progress. He very much feared the person he knew he’d become but even that was now met with a cool indifference.

He forced himself to watch because he could feel it all over again like fresh wounds. There was that knot pulling in the pit of his stomach watching Don drop, that feeling of helplessness listening to their voice sink lower as he picked and dug at his arms. Lastly there was that sudden rush, a tightness in his chest and a shortage of breath; his vision threatening to blur when it pushed too far and Leo couldn’t just sit and watch any longer.

“Donatello.” His voice boomed; biting the inside of his cheek before trying again, softer. This was his chance to be there. He could give them the luxury he never had; Don didn’t have to go through this alone.

“Don, please...”

“It-- It made sense to bring them home. I can’t... carry them any longer.”

Coming Home

He’d expected it. It was the oddest sensation, but he had; he’d even knelt to receive it right before Leo had slid it his way. But now – now it was different. Now he just wanted to look at Leo, not the bag. Because now he was absolutely terrified of that ratty old thing; he didn’t want it anymore. 

But his hands were stupid, damning things that worked on auto-pilot: he peeled back the open fabric, slowly reaching into the pouch. He found what he knew was cloth: soft, long, and cut into strips. 

Two strips.

Someone or something else needed to pull the things out of the bag to know for sure, because Don already knew. He knew what these hands he didn’t recognize were holding, but he was so, so sure he was looking at their faces. 

Vacant, unseeing faces.

The floor came up underneath his shell with a low thud. He’d no feeling in his fingers, for he’d begun to wind the masks – red and orange running together in his blurring vision – so tightly around his hands they’d surely turn purple soon. His throat hurt. His body hurt. Everything hurt so terribly.

“No. This doesn’t make sense.” came a voice, deathly quiet and popping at the seams. “No, no. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

He didn’t know who he was talking to; he was alone in here. He was sitting like a kid alone in this room, hiding his face in his palms and burying himself in the dark – in red, in orange – as deeply as he possibly could.

“You’re – you’re not making any sense, Leo,” Don said through his hands. “You’re not making any – “

[leaderinahalfshell]

“Whatever, it’s just a game.”

The controller swung loosely in Leonardo’s hand, on the verge of tossing the controller aside during every single results screen. Yet he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to let go.

"Y’know what? I don’t-- Okay! Come on, one more round.”

“--but I’m watching you this time. You’re cheating, I just don’t know how yet.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

“Alright. Schway...” Cool: he could handle. Schway might just slide easily into Mikey’s vocabulary but it had a long way to go before it could reach Leo’s. The conversation was good though; it at least distracted him from this whole undesired position of being carried around.

“Right okay, it’s just a title.” He continued; a pretty weird title sure but in his life there wasn’t exactly a clearly defined place to draw the line. “So is helping out confused strangers all part of the deal?”

Watching the building come into range Leo couldn’t resist letting his focus slip to looking down at the drop below, quickly snapping his attention ahead as he cradled his swords just a little bit tighter. It was best just to focus back on talking.

“--or uh, did I honestly make that great of a first impression?”

“Schway–right…slag…you don’t know.” He always had to shift his lingo with ‘Out of towners’. It was always tough because immediately after, he had to switch back when chatting with his friends. Dana had teased him saying ‘who uses cool anymore’ after his run in with Static. “It means he’s a good guy. He’s cool.”

It made sense and the guy was friendly enough. He wasn’t outing his name or anything. “Last I checked it wasn’t. Batman’s been a thing for a long time. A real long time. I got the mantle after I needed it. My father was murdered and I brought my Dad’s killers to justice.” Or some variant of it. Fixx had been killed on accident, Powers was on the run and Chill…

“I’ve been Batman for the last couple of years now.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

In that moment a twisted caricature stopped matching up with the Donatello standing in front of him; Leo never knew exactly what to expect from seeing them again but this sure wasn’t it.

He’d half expected for Don to gloat. It didn’t matter how petty that sounded; inevitably Don was right. The same arguments boiled down for years and somebody finally won; the fact Leo was standing here now was a testament to it.

It took him this long just for it to hit hard that nobody won-- and it filled Leo with even more shame for what he came here to do.

The warm can was shaking in his hand, what little appetite he had for it was long gone. He obliged and looked Don head to toe, he looked them in the eye and still said nothing at all. Instead, he crouched down, set the can aside and unhooked the the scabbards from his rucksack. The front pocket was unzipped as an open invitation for Don’s prying hands before he’d pushed the bag across the floor towards them.

Conversation was self-indulgence, Leo did it because it hurt. He didn’t come here to say anything.

Coming Home

‘You and us’: that rebounded in his skull until it was the only thing he could hear. You and us. You and us. You and us.

It mutated up there, somehow. 

It started to sound like the word “outsider”.

‘You’ve made a mistake, Donatello.’

Don actually looked at him, then; at Leo and his dark eyes, at the scars and the green of his skin that had begun to turn dull and tired. He looked at every suffering inch of him and dared himself to regret anything.

‘You’ve made a horrible mistake.’

“But you’re here,” he said at last. “You’re here, so you want to say something. What are you trying to tell me that you haven’t already? Do you think you can make me feel worse? Is that it? You can’t.” He gestured to himself: to the soot and the sores, to the burns and the belted suspenders he never bothered to beat the sawdust out of. “Look at me. You can’t.”

[leaderinahalfshell]

That was a fair comment, Leo would give them that. Whether that talk of throttling was a joke or not, he wasn’t sure but he’d by lying if the feeling had never been mutual.

“I’m trying, Don.”

“The thing between us-- between you and us...” He shouldn’t have made that correction, but it was automatic. As if the divide wasn’t big enough. “--that can’t be fixed... but we can at least try...” Leo bit his tongue and kept quiet. Whatever he was about to say, ultimately it would imply that they should just pretend.

Stupid.

“I don’t know.” He changed course in a spontaneous direction. “I don’t know what I wanted out of this.”

Coming Home

He seemed to be trying to joke. Don wanted to laugh – he really did. But he didn’t find it funny – not at all. In fact, it formed an icy ball in his stomach. Was that it, then? He’d spent all this time down here wanting to see his family again, and now all he wanted was to see the back of the only bit of it he’d seen in months? 

No. It wasn’t that simple. Never was. Don paused at thelast box, mindlessly thumbing a loose bit of duct tape. Still can’t look at him. Still won’t look at him.

“Not now, it seems.” Don didn’t sound angry – he didn’t even feel angry. Just low. Low and tight everywhere. “This isn’t conversation. This is you dancing around something and trying to keep me from figuring it out. Again. And just like before, I’ll take it: I’ll nod and pretend to listen while I imagine myself throttling you. Is that your end game, here?” 

[leaderinahalfshell]

Their answer provoked a small laugh that was about as dry as everything else Leo had offered up so far; he’d hope that was true, he liked the idea of this being an inconvenience. He acknowledged their hospitality by raising the warm cola in a slight toast before cracking it open; battered and bandages aside catching it wasn’t a problem.

He took their sarcasm without comment, despite having an answer stewing for near enough everything that was said. In a very strange sort of way Leo forced himself to savour it. This was the Donatello he knew and had been deprived off for far too long now, to not soak it all in was a waste of the journey in itself.

“Let’s stick to twenty minutes.” He eventually took the bait. “If I hate myself; thirty. If I hate you even more; forty-five.” His jokes may have been played off no differently but the sheer fact he tried to be informal just made Leo look all the more transparent. In the nicest way, now it looked like he was trying too hard. Don would already be calculating down on his agenda but it didn’t have to be so soon.

Better reel it back. Leaning against the wall he finally looked towards his younger brother; properly taking them in. Granted, Don looked like hell. Leo still couldn’t help but remind himself what real hell had looked like; that was enough to relight his cynical fire.  “Don, try cutting back on the smart-ass remarks. Once the coast is clear I’m gone again. When do you think your next shot at conversation is going to be?”

Coming Home

The least Don did was sigh; that hadn’t been his most calculated approach. He let Leo pass him – let him ward off his hands, let him take the bag full of secrets that pulled knots in his brain. But he didn’t look at him: he just pushed himself up on his feet and turned to walk without knowing to where to or why. 

“Yeah. You are.”

A pile of boxes sat not far from the old lounging area: without thought, he kicked aside two or three before finding the old cooler: everything inside was disgusting and warm to the touch, of course, but all he had in the way of hospitality. With great willpower, he managed to squash a throbbing urge to chuck a can of cola with all of his might at the back of Leo’s head and gave it the light toss his way that he’d meant it to be.

“So nice of you to visit outside of business matters.” That was sarcasm: visits from Leonardo, even right before he’d stopped coming altogether, were never informal, nor did they usually involve much conversation. Yet Don had spoken so loftily he may have been commenting on the weather; he even began to re-stack the boxes. 

“I do wish you’d called ahead: I’d have found something to heat up and leave on the table for you. I could go up and look now, of course, but I have a feeling you’re not looking to shack up for more than … twenty minutes? Thirty?” 

[leaderinahalfshell]

Leo didn’t humour them with a response. The only thing Don was getting out of him was the sound of further cabinet doors opening and closing in the search for canned goods, The news didn’t surprise him that Don still made it up to the surface. Only when it suited them of course.

He’d already adjusted to Don’s disembodied voice travelling from whatever corner they were hiding in, in fact he was ready to admit he preferred it this way. When Don’s voice called out again Leo froze, already hovering over the leftmost cabinet; the voice wasn’t far off any more, Don was closer. He was right outside.

Once he’d come to terms that there was no food on offer Leo quietly tried to make his way out of the kitchen. There was no reaction to catching Donatello in the act, how could he be any more disappointed with them than he already was?

It was easier just to focus on his bag; drawing closer before casually nudging it out of their reach with his foot. “You must’ve had them already, that’s too bad.” Leo continued to drone, dragging the pack towards the nearby wall as the attached scabbards scraped loudly across the floor.

“I’d have killed for some hot food.”

Leo would just had to settle for his canteen for the time being, trying to alleviate some of that dryness in his voice-- at least where it couldn’t be helped. He still couldn’t recall whether not he’d looked Don in the eye yet.

“Should’ve figured curiosity would get the better of you. Am I interrupting anything?”

Coming Home

He may as well have added “you coward”; Don could hear it in his voice. It hurt. It hurt, and Leo was being patient. 

Once he could bring himself to lift his gaze from the floor, Don eyed the main room once more. Leo had left his things on the floor there. 

It was already profoundly clear that Leo was going to be frustratingly sealed; if he was going to get anything out of him, it’d be by guile or force, and this was a good place to start. Don glanced up at the kitchen again; surely, Leo would not appreciate this. But caught or not, he had nothing to lose: the only way from here was down, if they hadn’t already hit rock bottom.

 And so it was after a long, uneasy glance toward the kitchen that Don finally stepped out into the dying light.  “I can’t say I know for sure,” he said steadily. “There might be some canned pineapple somewhere in there, but I don’t stockpile; I just head up when I need something. I’ve a nice set of priorities, don’t you think?” 

He recognized the coat as he approached: it was the same one Leo always wore on the street, pulled and beaten to all hell. The rucksack was probably something he’d scraped out of a dumpster a while back.

“I think I remember picking up a can of beans yesterday, too,” he went on as he knelt beside the old bag. “Try the leftmost cabinet.” There was not, in fact, anything of the sort there; it was just something to keep Leo both out of the room and fully occupied as he fiddled with the zipper; stupid, battered thing was stuck.

[leaderinahalfshell]

“No.”

Leo made it blatantly clear their suggestion was off the table, it wouldn’t even be considered as he stubbornly tried to wedge himself further along. “There’s no time to double back. We’ve got-- ngh-- an hour, max, before this place is cleared out.”

It was easy for Leo to take the high road here, getting one grubby arms dealer off the streets was still mission priority. It just happened to also do an excellent job masking his pride; the thought of anyone else, family or Foot, catching him like this was deeply undesired.

“Look-- it’s... not that far. I can-- I just need one good shove.”

Almost not taking them seriously for a moment, Alopex placed her hand on Leo’s shoulder, giving it a forceful push, only to prove he was telling the truth. Wrapping her arm around his the best she could in their limited space, the fox tried to walk back, attempting to pull him out. When they weren’t budging, she let go, stumbling slightly to the side.

“… Want me to go back for help?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

The first aid was inspected briefly but otherwise ignored in favour of the towels. Leo would stubbornly make due with the hasty patch up before making this journey without adding to his already considerable amassment of bandages. With no furniture left standing he made do with a counter before he set to work making himself a little more approachable. 

The rummaging stopped at Don’s hesitation, knowing full well where the conversation was heading as his fingers dug tighter into the bloodied fabric. No matter how prepared Leo was for the question it still made his blood boil.

As if it was even worth asking. As if Leo could plausibly just cut and run. He’d never be like them. He’d never stop. All the things he wanted to say but didn’t because he couldn’t risk jeopardizing this visit before it even began.

“Still doing it.” Was a curt but merciful answer, tossing the once clean towel aside before dropping back to the floor. “Sorry--” He quickly cut in before the topic could be be pressed any further. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Coming Home

Don made a small sound. Maybe it would have been a laugh, had it not felt so small and tested. “You sound so surprised. I never did straighten out too much - that was you and … and father’s thing.” The word ‘father’ hurt his throat: he had to clear it rather loudly to loosen it back up.

“But my story’s not very interesting. Trust me, it’s not.” The sound of Leo rummaging in the next room made him feel off – he’d grown so used to the quiet that any noise louder than a rat’s feet felt brazenly out of place. “You, on the other hand …“

His mouth felt even drier than before. Don licked his lips, hesitating.

“You’re still doing it, aren’t you?” He asked. “You’re still wrapped up in…  in all that stuff on the surface?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

Like air slowly let out of a deflating balloon Leo’s only response is a long sigh. He didn’t exactly warn them in advance, if Don needed the time to deal with him being here—and clearly he did, Leo was more than ready to indulge them.

and it wasn’t as if Donatello was wrong either; a fresh corpse wasn’t far off the truth.

The contents of his rucksack rattled loudly as the bag was dropped to the floor, in case his deflated compliance wasn’t audible enough. His tattered coat followed, mopping up dust as it was discarded. Missing plates aside as Leo fished out the necessary items, the kitchen was yet another harsh blow from nostalgia; he tried his hardest not to dwell on it. Instead he tried to focus on what was different, what seemed new-- which thankfully, was quite a lot of it. “You’ve been busy.” He couldn’t resist stating the obvious, breaking up the uncomfortable silence when he knew for definite Don would still be listening. Before Leo rose to his feet to begin tending to sore wounds his fingers brushed across clean hinges which only made the cabinet look even older in comparison. “... but-- ngh... Wouldn’t say it’s any tidier...”

Coming Home

Alone. He was alone. Don frowned deeply; perhaps the rest simply didn’t feel like visiting. Fine. That was fine. 

But he would be ignoring Leo’s request for eye contact – at least until he could swallow the sudden and irritating lump in his throat.

“You live here,” he said. Not pointedly nor impatiently, although that was an entirely false statement – it was just a bit easier to say. “Don’t be obstruse.”

He picked at the wrappings at his hands – it quelled his nerves by a frustrating margin. “You smell like a fresh corpse. I keep first aid and disinfectant in the cabinets where the plates used to be. Towels, too. Just don’t get an infection, alright?”

[leaderinahalfshell]

“I’m alone.”

His voice was cool, about as reserved as it could get. For a honed mediator it was second nature to mask their words; which was ultimately for the best because that question stung. Putting salt on sore wounds.

Deep down he knew the question wasn’t delivered to sting, how could it have been? His brother sounded just as lost for words. There was still that irritation; the all-knowing genius picking away at him with all their questions. Because that’s all Donatello seemed willing to give right now, even after all this time; more damn questions.

“For God’s sake, Don. You could at least meet me face to face.”

Leo took small steps closer towards the voice, a way to vent his impatience before it shown any more cracks. He was the mediator again.

“Am I welcome here?”

Coming Home

Don didn’t know his hands had balled into fists until his fingers began to leave dents in his palms. He’d an active imagination, but not so lucid, and never this consistent: Leo was there. Really, truly there: he could even smell the blood on him (and surely not all of it was his).

He should step out. He needed to step out. 

He didn’t. 

Don swallowed dryly, and he realized that he hadn’t drunk anything for hours: his tongue was scraggly and cold in his mouth. It wasn’t the first time Leo had to remind him to take care of himself. Wasn’t the first time he ignored it, either.

“Are you alone?” He spoke louder this time, and he had to fight the urge to cringe at the sound: his voice was quite hoarse. Speaking was not his favorite thing to do.